Chapter 42: Dissonance and Voice

“Then I’ll contact you when the team assignment is released. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Yeah.”

“And Gyu-tae.”

Na Eun-hyeok, shifting his gaze from my stiff, uninspired response, pointed toward Han Gyu-tae. Not expecting the arrow to be aimed at him, Gyu-tae blinked blankly. Without losing his signature elegant smile, Na Eun-hyeok raised a hand to point at Gyu-tae’s sleeve.

“You’ve got something on your clothes.”

“Huh? Uh, wait—when did this happen?!”

The cuff of his pale vanilla knit sweater was stained red with the broth from the pork cutlet cheese nabe. Since it was a spicy, kimchi-stew style base, it was obvious the stain wouldn’t come out easily. Watching the flustered Han Gyu-tae, Na Eun-hyeok’s eyes curved into a refreshing, bright smile.

“Well, I’ll be going first. Enjoy your meal.”

“Aw, man, my clothes…!”

I stared at Na Eun-hyeok’s broad back as he walked away. That view, which I had secretly observed countless times, felt strangely different today. A persistent sense of déjà vu kept attacking me.

And, this might be a random thought…

But I felt truly sorry to Na Eun-hyeok for even thinking it—his voice really was remarkably similar to Sephiroth’s.

I must have been playing too many games. Otherwise, why would I keep associating Na Eun-hyeok with Sephiroth? No matter how much I turned it over in my head, it made no sense. It was like looking at a pile of trash and calling it a flower.

While I agonized over the voice issue, my friends were focused elsewhere.

“Na Eun-hyeok really is handsome, though.”

Seong-jin muttered the words after Eun-hyeok had vanished. Gyu-tae was the one lifting his hips off his white plastic chair to peek over the partition for one last look at Eun-hyeok’s retreating figure. Even though we saw him around campus often, the fact that people still marveled every time proved that Na Eun-hyeok was a star among stars.

“Seriously. How can a human look like that?”

“Honestly, our year has plenty of decent-looking guys, but everyone gets buried because of Na Eun-hyeok. It’s unfair.”

“Because you got buried?”

“Yeah.”

I glanced at Han Gyu-tae, who nodded without a shred of shame, then rested my chin on my hand and looked away. Gyu-tae himself was far from ugly, but looking at him after seeing Na Eun-hyeok felt… uninspiring. It was definitely a loss for him.

Since I stayed silent, the conversation continued between Gyu-tae and Seong-jin.

“Is it just me? If Chae Eonha were in a different department, he’d be the ‘campus god’ of that major.”

“True. Even now, I occasionally get asked by kids from other majors to set Eonha up on blind dates.”

“What about me?”

“They say you’re handsome but look like a player. Like you’d find a girlfriend in the time it takes to actually schedule the date.”

“Hey, that’s unfair! What did I even do? I want a girlfriend too! Preferably a pretty older sister!”

“Keep your voice down, it’s embarrassing.”

I kicked Han Gyu-tae’s foot under the table as he broadcasted his ideal type to the entire cafeteria. Gyu-tae flinched and mimicked zipping his lips shut from corner to corner. Of course, that zipper was broken. After making the grand gesture of staying quiet, he couldn’t even last three seconds before opening his mouth again.

“Anyway, Eonha, you gonna be okay?”

“With what?”

“The team project with Na Eun-hyeok.”

He poked right at my sore spot. Seong-jin quickly grabbed Gyu-tae’s shoulder.

“Ah, Eonha will handle it.”

“No, it’s not about Eonha handling it; the God of Fate put him and Na Eun-hyeok in the same group. Isn’t this an abuse of power by the TA? We should stop this.”

“How exactly are we going to stop it?”

“That… I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far.”

Gyu-tae scratched the back of his head awkwardly but then fired up again.

“Regardless, Chae Eonha, you’re uncomfortable around Na Eun-hyeok. Can you really do a project with him?”

“I have to. What choice do I have?”

Doing the project is fine. The problem is me creaking like a broken wooden puppet…

I tried to calm Gyu-tae down with that thought, but his face remained full of doubt.

“Well, if you need help with anything, tell us. You usually aren’t picky about people—did Na Eun-hyeok do something to you?”

“It’s not like that. Calm down, Han Gyu-tae.”

“Park Seong-jin, why are you taking Na Eun-hyeok’s side? Can’t you tell Eonha is uncomfortable?”

I appreciate it, but you’re wrong, so shut up, you brat.

“Enough. I’m fine, so just drop it. Thanks for worrying, though.”

“……”

Han Gyu-tae looked dissatisfied but finally went quiet. Park Seong-jin gave me a look that said, ‘I know everything.’ Why are you giving me that look? It’s making me nervous.

In any case, I didn’t want to keep talking about Na Eun-hyeok with these two. While it wasn’t the kind of “problem” Gyu-tae was worried about, I was genuinely worried in a different way. Saying I wasn’t worried would be a lie, but admitting I was worried was a one-way ticket to a misunderstanding. It was exhausting.

“Han Gyu-tae, just clean your sleeve.”

“Oh, right.”

I naturally shifted the subject back to the spot Na Eun-hyeok had pointed out.

Han Gyu-tae, looking annoyed at the red stew stain, brought a cup of water and some napkins from the sink. He dunked the napkins in the cup, creating an instant wet wipe. Watching him scrub the knit sweater aggressively was such a contrast to the neat-freak persona he maintained in the game yesterday.

“Hey, if you do that, the fabric’s going to pill.”

I pointed it out because I couldn’t stand watching it, but Gyu-tae didn’t seem to care.

“So what if it pills? As long as I can wear it.”

“You were so obsessed with a little dust on your clothes in the game, though?”

“That’s because it’s a game.”

Usually, it’s the other way around, isn’t it? I could never understand his logic.

“How can I stand to see dust on a pretty lady’s clothes?”

“That lady is your character.”

“Whatever, as long as the exterior is pretty.”

“You’re going to end up meeting a gorgeous piece of human trash with that attitude.”

“That’s fine! As long as I get to be stepped on by a pretty lady!”

Sir, nobody is interested in your warped preferences.

I stared dully at Gyu-tae as he shoved the stained napkins to the side of his tray. Seong-jin rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin and pushing up his glasses with a fingertip.

“On a different note, Na Eun-hyeok’s voice and Sephiroth’s voice are really similar.”

Han Gyu-tae, who had been scrubbing his sleeve, snapped his head up at that.

“Park Seong-jin, you felt it too? I was thinking the same thing!”

What? These two think so too?

My eyes widened at the unexpected confirmation. I had just been agonizing over whether I was a game addict because the voices sounded the same, but it turned out I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“You guys think their voices are similar, too?”

“Yeah. They’re almost identical. Are they the same person?”

“No way. That’s impossible.”

I waved my hand at Gyu-tae’s suggestion. Na Eun-hyeok being the same person as Sephiroth? That made no sense. Gyu-tae didn’t seem to be serious either, as he laughed it off.

“Right. There are plenty of people in the world with similar voices.”

“Right?”

Still, it was a relief. At least I wasn’t so addicted to the game that I was having delusions that defamed Na Eun-hyeok’s character. If all three of us felt they were similar, then the voices really must be alike.

But how can the voices be the same when the personalities are worlds apart? Na Eun-hyeok is sweet and kind, while Sephiroth is a ‘Sephipath’…

After lunch, Han Gyu-tae headed toward the large lecture hall for class. “You have to play Zelpia with me later!” His final words sounded like a solemn last will and testament, making me realize he was truly obsessed. Park Seong-jin said he had to stop by the library. Suddenly left alone, I wandered aimlessly before heading to the auditorium in the Student Union building.

The auditorium was quiet and empty, as usual. A girl sat at the large piano in the corner, playing a semi-classical piece famous from TV and commercials. It was a well-known tune that even I recognized, but she seemed to have learned it recently; the pitch and rhythm faltered here and there. Listening to the falling dissonance, I leaned back against a long bench.

“Hmm…”

I pulled out my phone. Swiping down the status bar, I saw a preview of a message. Na Eun-hyeok. I stared at the sender’s name. The content was simple.

Na Eun-hyeok: [Looking forward to working with you, Eonha! ^^]

It was a message sent to many and received from many, yet for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to open it easily. The problem was that the sender was Na Eun-hyeok. Even though he sent it without a second thought, Chae Eonha was at it again!

But this time, I had to be brave. When I faced Na Eun-hyeok in person, I got so nervous that I acted stupidly, making it likely—as Gyu-tae said—that he thought I hated him. To correct that misunderstanding, I had to utilize this chance: a text message, where I didn’t have to face him and could organize my thoughts before responding.

Right. Deep breath.

Anyone else would scoff at the amount of effort I was putting into this, but I was serious. Just as the frequency of the piano player’s wrong notes would slowly decrease with practice, I had to find a way to resolve the dissonance in my own actions.